


Songbird's Ballad

by SirensCalling



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - No Zombies, Eventual Romance, F/M, Gen, Music, Song Lyrics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2015-04-25
Packaged: 2018-03-15 05:29:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3435251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirensCalling/pseuds/SirensCalling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl Dixon is a world famous rock star, he lives his life hard and fast, but that doesn't make him a bad man. When his kind side gets him noticed by the press, his manager, Andrea, comes up with a scheme that will benefit them both. There's only one problem. She wants him to perform a love song. Not just perform, but write one. And Daryl Dixon does not write love songs. He's never even been in love.</p><p>Enter Beth Greene, farm girl given the opportunity of a lifetime as an intern for Terminus Records. Leaving her small town and fiance for the big city, Beth is sure this is her chance to fulfilling her dreams. Her boss is exhausting, and the pay is less than promising, but it brings her one step closer to achieving her dream of writing songs for a living. </p><p>When a twist of fate pulls these two together, it could be the answer to both of their prayers. But there might be more than just music going on between them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Track One: Love Song by Sara Bareilles

**Author's Note:**

> All music belongs to their respective artists and writers. I do not own them or claim to. I do not own The Walking Dead or any of it's characters, I merely borrow them for creative purposes. 
> 
> Love Song by Sara Bareilles 
> 
> Echo performed by Jason Walker

** Track One: Love Song - Sara Bareilles **

 

.

.

.

 

To the world, Daryl Dixon was a bit of a rock god. No, he didn't write music that inspired chills and awe, instead he beat out lyrics that were an emotional middle finger to all the things in this world that had done him wrong. For Daryl, his music was the only way he could let out the scars of his past-be it the damage his abusive father had done to him emotionally and physically, or the loss of his older brother, who had been the only person who'd given a damn about him. His top hits included 'You, Me and Meth', 'Scars' and 'Damaged Goods', and three of his records had gone platinum. Daryl Dixon didn't do the fluffy upbeat shit that got artists on the top 40 stations, he didn't do love songs, or ballads. He stuck to what he knew-pain and loss.

  
  


  Daryl Dixon didn't know a damn thing about love, or being loved.

  
  


   Honestly, he didn't want to. He saw what love did to people. Love drowned his mother in liquor and cigarettes. Love was the beatings and curses his father had laid on him almost daily. Love was Merle caring more about his next fix to the point he'd overdosed in some shit hole motel. Love brought nothing but pain and misery. Daryl had enough of both in his life to far go the emotion.

  
  


  His publicist, Michonne Lawson, and manager, Andrea Harrison, had him going out with a new actress/singer/model every other day, all in the name of keeping up his image as a playboy. ‘Scandals sell albums’ was his manager Andrea's motto. And to be honest, Daryl did enjoy having money for once in his life.

  
  


  He wasn't stupid with it, the majority going into the bank while the rest was divided towards his lifestyle and whatever charity Andrea thought he should be supporting-the only one he cared about was St. Agnes's Home for Children. Daryl made sure that a large chunk of his profits went towards the charity. On holidays, he made sure to swing by the local centers and bring gifts for the kids-much to Andrea's displeasure.

  
  


  "Playboy rock stars do not spend their Christmases with kids, they spend it partying," she'd gripe.

  
  


  "Shut up," was Daryl's usual answer when Andrea would get snippy about him doing as he pleased.

  
  


  Heaven forbid he spend a weekend hunting or working on his bike. Nope, he had to be in the eye of the public, doing this talk show, or going out with that actress, appearing at this event whatever.

  
  


 Daryl was about ready to call it quits when Andrea strutted into the studio, in the middle of him recording a song for his upcoming album. She walked right into the sound booth, looking like the devil himself was on a warpath.

  
  


 "You're going to do a ballad," she announced.

Daryl's exclamation of 'what the fuck' died on his tongue with Andrea's sudden declaration. Instead the man stared at the woman as though she had sprouted a third eye.

  
  


 "The hell?" He asked, placing his guitar against the stool he'd been sitting on.

  
  


  "Your little Good Samaritan bullshit act? The press got wind of it. It's all over People, Star-everywhere. I hope you're happy," she huffed.

  
  


  "The hell does any of that have to do with me doing a fucking love song?" Daryl demanded.

  
  


  "I saved your redneck ass, Dixon," Andrea hissed. "I made a press release that you're recording an album for St. Agatha's-"

  
  


  "St. Agnes'," he growled.

  
  


  "I don't care! You and a bunch of other artist are putting together an album-all the proceeds will be donated to the charity."

  
  


  Daryl was taken aback by Andrea's generosity. In the seven years Daryl had been doing music, Andrea had never proposed something like this. She wasn't really a cold hearted bitch. With Andrea her less than warm attitude was simply because Daryl was her only successful client, and she wasn't keen on losing her source of income. She was good at what she did, and though she could get on his nerves, Daryl trusted her.

  
  


  "Why do I have to do a damn ballad?" he asked as he rubbed his palm over his face his tone defeated.

  
  


  "Because we are not putting out an album for a kids charity with you singing about a night of drinking. You're doing a ballad-whether you like it or not."

  
  


  Daryl growled a curse as he aimlessly kicked at the air, his hand balling into a fist. "I don't know the first fucking thing about writing a damn love song, Andrea!"

  
  


  "Either you write it or I'll start going through lyricist and find someone who can," Andrea said with a double edged smile. "But you're doing it."

  
  


  Daryl cursed at Andrea's back as she turned on her heel and started out the sound booth.

  
  


 "Do you even got bands to go on this shit album of yers',"Daryl called after her.

  
  


  "You just write the song and I'll worry about getting the other talent." And with that Andrea was gone.

  
  


  Daryl fumed under his breath as he flopped back down on the stool, bracing his head in his hands.

  
  


He just couldn't catch a break.

  
  


.

.

.

  
  


"Betty, where is my latte?"

  
  


  Beth Greene bit her tongue against the biting retort that was simmering inside her, threatening to break free. Beth had been working at Terminus Records for three months as a intern/assistant/slave to Andrea Harrison. In those three months, Andrea couldn't be bothered to learn her name and she made Beth do an enormous amount of grunt work and gofer-ing all over Atlanta to pick up her coffee, her dry cleaning; Andrea named it, Beth would do it.

  
  


  When Beth had arrived at T Records, she'd been a starry-eyed twenty year-old, thinking that this internship was her ticket to getting into music business. Beth fancied herself a good writer, having dabbled in song writing since she was thirteen when her father's closest friend, Otis, had taught her to play the guitar. Her parents had paid for her piano lessons, and from then on Beth knew she wanted to be in the music industry.

  
  


  When Beth got the letter saying she was one of a dozen people being considered for an internship at Terminus Records. Beth had taken a leap of faith, applied and within a month she received her acceptance letter. Hershel and Annette Greene had been supportive as parents could be when sending their youngest child off to live in a city as big as Atlanta. Though she missed her quiet farm girl life, she did enjoy living on her own.

  
  


  Beth's boyfriend of two years, Zach Turner, had been a little less enthused. They had had the biggest fight ever about her leaving. Zach was three years older than her, they'd met at the hole-in-the-wall diner Beth had worked at while she attended the community college. Beth's had been flattered that an older man had wanted her but truthfully Zach was very much a boy still. After their blowout Beth had been sure that things were over for them. The next day though, Zach climbed through her window, laying kisses on her shoulder till she was awake and presented her with a one karat diamond ring.

  
  


  Beth had said yes, and promised they'd be married as soon as her one-year internship ended. Zach had agreed. His ring on her finger seemed to put him at ease in some weird way.  Beth gazed down at said ring in thought. Beth still couldn't quite believe she getting married in a year.

  
  


  "Hello? Betty, you do not get paid to daydream; where is my latte?" Andrea had left her office and now stood in front of Beth's small cubicle.

  
  


  Beth plastered her best sweet as ice tea smile on her face, as she turned towards Andrea, presenting her with a cup from Starbucks.

  
  


  "Right here Andrea, I was just about to bring it to you," Beth kept her tone chipper, holding back the weariness from showing.

  
  


  Andrea eyed her closely as she took a tentative sip from the cup. After swallowing Andrea's ice blue eyes flicked from Beth to the cup in her hand.

  
  


 "Too much foam," she commented before turning on her heel and heading back to her office. "Come."

  
  


    _Good job, Beth. Thank you for getting me coffee_ , _Beth_ , Beth thought sourly with a roll of her eyes before grabbing her notepad, trailing after Andrea.

  
  


  "I need you to call everyone on this list," Andrea handed Beth a sheet of yellow notebook paper, two dozen or so names scribbled on it in Andrea's slanted script. "I need you to tell them I need a song done. A ballad. The sappier and sadder the better."

  
  


  Beth couldn't help but frown at Andrea. "Mr. Dixon is doing a ballad? And he's not writing it himself?"

  
  


  Andrea was tapping something into her blackberry, as she shook her head, absentmindedly answering Beth. "Dixon got himself into a mess. A love song is his way out of it."

  
  


  Beth simply nodded and asked if that was all. Andrea nodded, shooing Beth away with a wave of her hand. Beth couldn't exit the office fast enough, returning to her cubicle to stare at the list of lyricist Andrea had given her.

  
  


  In her three months of working at Terminus Recorders, Beth had never met Andrea's most infamous client, Daryl Dixon. His posters and albums decorated the walls of Andrea's office, badges of his-or her-success. Beth would find herself staring at the posters, taking in the man in them-shaggy dark hair dripping with sweat, casting the sharp angles of his face in shadows as he leaned over a microphone, his bare chest covered by his signature leather vest with hand stitched angel wings, the same angel wings that were on every album he released in the last seven years. Torn pants that hung low on his hips, the muscles of his arms flexed caught the lights of the stage; Beth thought him sexy in that way only rock stars could be.

  
  


  After her first day on the job she had swung by a small record store and bought some of his CDs, listening to them as she drove home. After a 40 second electric guitar intro, drums followed accompanied by the strum of a bass. Beth almost considered skipping the track-but then he sang.

  
  


   That first line was a knife to her heart, raw emotion laced his whiskey dry voice, the sound of it vibrating from the speakers of her car. Though Beth wasn't one for rock or heavy metal, but Daryl Dixon's music struck a chord in her soul. The next thing Beth knew she had downloaded all his albums onto her iPod and found herself listening to his music hours on end. There were two things Beth knew for sure about Daryl Dixon when it came to his music.

  
  


  The first was that he wrote all his own music. Yes, he had co-written a few songs with other successful lyricist but every song on all his albums read ‘by Daryl Dixon’. The fact that he wrote every song told Beth that music was as personal to him as it was to her. Beth carried a notebook with her at all times, a journal of sorts filled with her poems and lyrics, she never let it leave her side. Second, he did not do ballads. His songs were heavy hitting, a constant rapid beat of electric guitars and drums, loud and punishing. It made Beth wonder if the man had ever been in love . . . if he had ever known any kind or gentle emotion.

  
  


 “Betty!”

  
  


 Beth was jolted from her thoughts by Andrea's shrill voice. Jumping to her feet, Beth craned her neck to see Andrea standing in the doorway of her office, eyeing-more like glaring-at Beth pointedly.

  
  


 “I'm sorry, Andrea,” Beth was quick to apologize as she reached blindly for the phone her desk lifting it up into Andrea's line of vision. "I'll call them right no-"

  
  


 “Never mind about that,” Andrea cut her off with a tired sigh before continuing. “I need you to go meet Michonne at Antonio's and pick up the promotional sketches from her."

  
  


 Beth felt her heart plummet into her stomach.

  
  


 “Antonio's . . . that's across town,” Beth said as she checked the time on her phone. Almost 4 PM, traffic was going to be a nightmare.

  
  


  “I'm aware of that, Betty,” Andrea rolled her eyes. “Michonne is expecting you at four thirty sharp, she has a meeting right after you get there. You're late, it's your  job.”

  
  


  Beth didn't say a word, the young woman merely jumped to her feet, shoving her journal, phone, shoving both in her purse and took off at a jog towards the elevators. (She was on the fifteenth floor, there was no way she was taking the stairs). Of course they took what felt like an eternity to arrive, once the doors slid open she was inside pressing the down button frantically until the doors eased closed.

  
  


   These short deadlines were Andrea's specialty. Beth could swear she enjoyed watch Beth squirm almost as much as the woman enjoyed calling her Betty. Beth had given up trying to correct her after two weeks of working for her. The woman was exhausting.

  
  


  At the ding of the elevator, Beth rushed forward colliding directly into a hard, male body. The man stumbled forward in surprise consequently knocking Beth backwards. The blond hit the ground of the elevator hard, her purse flying out of her hand, the contents scattering across the floor. The man fumbled with a harsh curse the folder and papers in his hands mixing in with the contents of Beth's purse.

  
  


Normally Beth would have apologized, and offered to help with the mess-but today her job was on the line. Beth scrambled forward, shoving whatever she spotted into her bag before leaping to her feet, stepping around the crouched man as he gathered his own possessions.

  
  


“Watch where yer goin' lady,” he called after her.

  
  


“I'm sorry!” She called, not bothering to look back as she raced down the hall past the reception desk and out the front doors.

  
  


Beth would be damned if she was going to lose this internship. She made a promise to herself to make it up to the man later, should fate bring them together again.

 

.

.

.

 

Daryl watched as the petite blond raced down the hall, her ponytail swinging after her like a banner. When she was out of sight Daryl mumbled something along the lines of ‘damn interns’. She was probably one of Andrea's newest serfs. The woman got some hellish thrill making her interns jump through hoops for approval. And all of them ate right out of her hand.

  
  


  Shaking his head, Daryl turned back to the mess of papers scattered across the floor of the elevator. The doors gave an impatient ding, prompting Daryl to scoot forward, allowing the doors to slide shut as he reached up and hit the 15th floor. As the elevator began to rise, Daryl went about gather the sheets of paper.

  
  


  Since Andrea had breezed into the sound booth, announcing her batshit crazy plan, Daryl had attempted to write a ballad. He'd ended up destroying a whole damn 100 page notebook in his attempt. Needless to say, it hadn't gone well. Then he had received the fax of possible songwriters and Daryl had physically cringed as he read the names there. Most of them wrote poppy top 40 bullshit or being desperate and broken without some chick. No way in hell was he gonna perform any of their songs. Just hell no.

  
  


 After reading the damn fax he had decided to storm Andrea's office and tell her where to shove her damn love song. He wasn't Elton fucking John, Daryl didn't do sappy, feely music and whether she liked it or not he'd visit the kids at St. Agnes's as much as he damn well pleased. The direction of his anger fueled train of thought was derailed when he found the notebook. Under a pile of his bullshit attempts at lyrics, it was open on the floor, pages folded and bent.

  
  


Damn girl left her shit, he thought sourly as he lifted the notebook up by its spine and turning it over, his eyes scanning the page if had fallen open to. In looping script, half cursive, half print, there were musical notes written underneath the words on the page. Daryl read that one page, the frown on his face deepening.

  
  


_‘Echo’_

 

_Hello, hello_   
_Anybody out there? Cause I don't hear a sound_   
_Alone, alone_   
_I don't really know where the world is but I miss it now_   
  
_I'm out on the edge and I'm screaming my name_   
_Like a fool at the top of my lungs_   
_Sometimes when I close my eyes I pretend I'm alright_   
_But it's never enough_

  
  


Daryl flipped the notebook to the first page, his piercing blue eyes scanning the inside of the cover.

  
  


Beth Greene

1238 Manderson Ave, Apartment 6B.

  
  


The doors dinged open at that moment, breaking Daryl's concentration. He quickly gathered up the rest of his papers, tucking the notebook among them. Climbing to his feet, Daryl hit the down button, and the doors eased closed once more.

  
  


Daryl clutched the notebook like it was a lifeline as his brain began working a plan to get him out of this mess, get the kids their money and maybe a chance to watch Andrea's head spin. A crooked smile hitched one corner of his lips.

  
  
Daryl wasn't as screwed as he thought. 


	2. Track Two: Come Together by Echosmith

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All music belongs to their respective artists and writers. I do not own them or claim to. I do not own the Walking Dead or any of its characters. I just borrow them. 
> 
>  
> 
> I hadn't intended for this to take so long. For those who follow me on my tumblr, or have read my other fic Rock-a-bye know about my grandmother's passing four weeks ago. And to add to it my computer decided to act like an ass and not access for the internet ( was so close to attempting to post an update on from ipod, but ended up fixing my computer by accident but its working again). 
> 
> thank you for all the kudos and comments and love you have given this fic, and for your patience. When I said updates would be slow I hadn't meant two months I swear. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it :)

**Track Two: Come Together by Echosmith**

 

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.

 

 

By the time Beth returned to her apartment at the end of the day, it's seven thirty-nine and she's wondering if she can get away with murder. Beth had made it to Antonio's just in time, breathless and fatigued as she rushed up to the smartly dressed woman with the dark mocha colored skin, her long dreadlocks carefully piled on her head. A smile touched the woman's full lips once she saw the petite blond making her way toward her. Michonne chuckled as she brought her cup of coffee to her lips.

 

 

"You look like you're ready to fall over, girl," she teased as she motions for Beth to sit across from her.

 

 

Beth fell into the seat with a heavy sigh, her limbs all but sighing in relief. "I think Andrea hates me," she groaned as she laid her head on the cool surface of the table. "Or she's at least trying to kill me."

 

 

Michonne simply grinned as she lifted her cup to her lips and took a sip of the scalding liquid.

 

 

"Believe it or not, I think she just likes you. Andrea has a . . . a singular mind. When she focuses on one thing, she can move mountains. Don't matter who's in her way."

 

 

Beth simply nodded, not even opening her eyes to see the look on Michonne's face.

 

 

"I ever tell you how me and Andrea got into business together?" the older woman asked as a slight smile moved across her face at the old memory. "She and I . . . we just stumbled upon each other. We had nothing, but we combined our talents and here we are."

 

 

Beth finally pried her eyes open to gaze at Michonne, who was-mentally at least-a thousand miles away.

 

 

"You really care about her, don't you?" Beth asked as she sat up, leaning forward to brace her arms on the table top.

 

 

"She's like a sister to me," Michonne agreed. "I know working for her is . . . challenging . . . but she's worked hard to be where she is. And she fights every damn day to keep what she has."

 

 

Beth could only blink, taken aback by the fierce protectiveness behind Michonne's words.

 

 

"I just . . . I just wish she would at least acknowledge everything I do. I feel like I'm running in place. Like, everything I do and everything I attempt to do, just makes her like me less," Beth confided, rubbing a hand across her cheek.

 

 

"She sees what you do, all of it," Michonne assured Beth, her smile widening as she turned her cup in her hand absently. "She just ain't one to encourage or reward people for doing well. No, Andrea, she's like an angry football coach during the championship game. Mean and vicious, fighting tooth and nail to get that trophy. And degrading his players as he goes because he think it'll make them tough, and work twice as hard."

 

 

Beth simply sighed as she made to push herself to her feet. Michonne had reached for the envelope and pulled the papers free. She made a strangled noise that stopped Beth in her tracks. It had sound a lot like laughter.

 

 

"What is it?" Beth asked unthinkingly. Normally she would have been a good gopher and kept her nose clear of business matters between Michonne and Andrea, but Michonne was struggling for breath she was laughing so hard.

 

 

"Lord, she has lost it," Michonne sighed as she took a sip of her coffee.

 

 

"What?" Beth asked as she sat back down.

 

 

"She . . . Andrea is setting up a new album for Dixon," she smirked. "Whole thing's for charity. He'll be headlining the album while we get some other bands and artists to back him. She's planning a tour and everything."

 

 

"Oh, yeah, she mentioned it earlier before I left," Beth said. "But why is it funny? Isn't this good? Think of all the good it could do."

 

 

"Oh, sweetheart that is not why I'm laughing. I'm laughing cuz Daryl Dixon ain't never gunna write the ballad she wants. Much less perform one. The man's a lot of things but in touch with his lighter emotions is not one of them. I doubt that man has ever been in love."

 

 

Beth said nothing, lost in thought over Michonne's offhanded remark. Magazine covers were plastered with Daryl and women of all walks of fame, but all of those 'relationships' had ended as quickly as they had began. But surely that didn't mean the man had never been in love. Beth couldn't imagine such a thing.

 

 

Just then, Beth's phone began playing Cruella De Vil theme from  _101_ _Dalmatians_. A blush broke out across Beth's face as she scrambled to answer the phone, Michonne grinning wickedly as she watched the young woman.

 

 

"Yes? Andrea?"

 

 

 _"Beth! Where are you?"_ As always, Andrea was not in a good mood.

 

 

Beth winced at the sternness in the woman's tone. "Ah, sorry Andrea, I got to talking with Michonne an-"

 

 

 _"You don't get paid to gossip with Michonne! Come back to the office_  now."

 

 

Beth sighed as Andrea abruptly ended the call, turning back to Michonne. "Duty calls."

 

 

Michonne shook her head. "You're going to be fine, Beth. Keep your chin up. And you might want to change that ringtone."

 

 

Beth giggled nervously. "Um, Maggie did that. After meeting Andrea one weekend. Needless to say, she wasn't taken with Andrea."

 

 

Michonne simply chuckled. "Take care of yourself."

 

 

Beth nodded, smiling slightly. "Bye."

 

 

The rest of Beth's day was a series of long phone calls and filing documents. Andrea only barked at her a handful of times, ordering her to copy this and fax that. Beth kept her mouth shut, obeying Andrea's commands with only one goal: to get home at a decent hour. Beth's goal was accomplished as she stumbled up the three flights of stairs to her cozy one bedroom apartment. As she finally reached her floor, Beth had concluded murder wouldn't solve her problems with Andrea.

 

 

Sadly.

 

 

Beth was reaching for her keys when there was a rasping cough from behind her. On instinct, Beth turned to face the source of the sound, her eyes falling on a man sitting on the floor of the hall, his denim clad legs sprawled out carelessly. He had a cigarette tucked between his lips, his shaggy dark hair obscuring his eyes from her view. Warning bells went off in the back of Beth's mind as she slowly began approaching the stranger.

 

 

"Um, are you all right?" Beth asked, hr gaze moving over the stranger once more.

 

  
The man pulled the cigarette from his mouth, pulling one leg up to extinguish the flame on the sole of his boot. "Uh huh, you Beth Greene?"

 

 

The warning bells had turned to sirens. "Um, yes . . . ."

 

 

"Bout damn time," he grunted as he climbed to his feet.

 

 

Standing, the stranger dwarfed Beth by at least a head, which didn't comfort Beth in the slightest. Those self defense classes she had taken with Maggie had taught her to escape dangerous situations-before Beth had stopped attending in lieu of guitar lessons with Otto.

 

 

 _If I get out of this alive I'll sign up for kickboxing, I swear,_  Beth gulped as her grip on her bag tightened.

 

 

"Do I know you?" Beth asked, because now that he was standing he  _did_  look familiar, somehow.

 

 

That made the man pause, a spiteful smirk curving his lips. "Nah. You don't look much like the rocker type."

 

 

"Excuse me?" Beth asked, the way he'd said it came off more then a little condescending, and as Beth watched the man standing in her hall, she liked him less and less. "Never mind, you have a goodnight sir."

 

 

"Hey," he called after her as Beth made for her door, keys in hand. Before she could reach hit tough, the stranger was blocking her way.

 

 

"'M sorry, don't mean to come off as a dick, ya just look like the Taylor Swift type s'all."

 

 

Oh, yes, her dislike for this man was growing with every word that came out of his mouth. "Please move, I've had a long day and I'd really rather be in my bed then standing out in the hall with you."

 

 

What he did next really caught Beth off guard. The man laughed. Well, it was more of raspy chuckle, but something told her that he wasn't one for body shaking laughter.

 

 

"Yer not as sweet as you look, huh?"

 

 

"Goodnight." Beth ground out as she attempted to move past him.

 

 

The man's hand shot out, and Beth simply reacted. She swung her bag wide, hitting the stranger against one broad shoulder.

 

 

"Ow! The  _fuck_  girl? What ya got in there? Bricks?"the man mumbled a few curses before tossing a spiral notebook at Beth's feet-one she hadn't even noticed him carrying. "Ain't no freaking stalker or whatever, just came by to return this."

 

 

Beth stared from the notebook to the stranger before finally crouching down to collect the book. Beth's heart faltered in her chest as recognition hit her.

 

 

"This is mine." she said dumbly.

 

 

"Yeah, I know that, ya dropped it when you plowed me over in the elevator."

 

 

His words brought a memory to the forefront of her mind-of rushing out of the elevator and colliding with a man, papers flying everywhere and Beth scrambling to collect her things and get to Michonne at Antonio's.

 

 

"Oh," she said, a blush coloring her pale face. "Um I'm sorry. Thank you, for returning this, you didn't have to and you don't know what it means to me that you did Mr-"

 

 

"Dixon. Daryl Dixon," he grunted lifting a hand out to her.

 

 

But Beth didn't move to take it, she was frozen in place as his name echoed in her mind like a shout in the Grand Canyon.

 

 

Daryl Dixon.

 

 

_Daryl Dixon._

 

 

Sweet lord she hit Daryl Dixon.

 

 

"Shit," she whispered.

 

 

Daryl's brows moved up ward, making his bangs shift across his forehead, his face forming a mild expression of surprise. "You just curse, songbird?"

 

 

"Please don't get me fired," Beth pleaded, this was just what Andrea would need to get Beth out of T Records for ever. Beth had all but assaulted Andrea's biggest client. "I-I didn't know it was you-and I'm sorry for hitting you-"

 

 

"Girl, enough, I ain't here to harass you or get ya fired. Just here to return yer book and ask you something." he shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

 

 

"I'm sorry Mr. Dixon-"

 

 

"S'just Daryl."

 

 

"- fine,  _Daryl_ , but I don't really understand what you could have to ask me. I'm just an intern." Beth rubbed a hand down her arm as she glanced around the vacant hall way.

 

 

"Ya can help me by writing a song with me."

 

 

"What?" Beth exclaimed, her blue eyes going wide. "Do what?"

 

 

"Read some of yer stuff, your real good-"

 

 

"You read my journal," Beth exclaimed, anger coursing through her small frame. "These are my private thoughts! My music-you can't just read people's personal property without their permission!"

 

 

Daryl wisely took a step back from the irate girl. She was a tiny thing but he was aware first hand her swing packed a wallop.

 

 

"S'not like I meant to, damn thing was open, I was just picking it up and read few lines, s'all. Didn't read it page to page or nothing," Daryl grunted.

 

 

" _What_  did you read?" she ground out from between clenched teeth.

 

 

Daryl wasn't sure what he wanted to do more-laugh or cart the girl off to a shrink. He'd never seen someone so small go from polite to kick ass to pleading to for her job to angrier than a nest of hornets.

 

 

"Just couple of lines of one song. Echo?"

 

 

Beth's anger evaporated from her body. "Just a few lines? And you think I'm good? Good enough to write a song with you?" she was eyeing him with a mingle of skepticism and hope, the logical side of her being telling her there was no way Daryl Dixon really wanted to work with her.

 

 

"Better then the assholes Andrea's trying to get me to use for this stupid song," he grumbled.

 

 

Beth frowned. "If you don't want to do the charity album, then why don't you . . . I don't know . . . don't?"

 

 

"S'not that I don't wanna; just don't wanna do a stupid fucking love song," he growled. "Ain't the mushy type."

 

 

"And you think I am?" Beth bit back a laugh, not sure if she should be offended or amused.

 

 

"S'not meant to get yer panties in a bunch. Just mean, lord, girl you gunna write this thing with me or not? You'll get paid the regular fee for whatever song we come up with."

 

 

"I don't want your money, Daryl. Just don't understand why me. I'm an intern, and your manager hates me-"

 

 

"Andrea hates everyone, songbird."

 

 

"-and you have some of the best writers at your dispenses. It doesn't make sense."

 

 

"Don't have to make sense," Daryl mumbled as he lifted his gaze to hers', blue meeting blue. "S'just know you're it."

 

 

That was it. He didn't elaborate, didn't explain, but at the same time Beth didn't need him to. She understood.

 

 

"I need some time," Beth said with a sigh, brushing a lock of hair out of her face. "And it'd be nice for some kind of guarantee that Andrea wont fire me over this."

 

 

"She ain't gunna fire ya. Swear. How long you need," Daryl asked as he reached into his jacket pocket for his smokes.

 

 

"Just . . . a day. I'll call you," Beth said, as she pulled out her phone, handing it to him.

 

 

"How I know ya won't hand my number out to all your girly friends," he smirked, but he was only half joking.

 

 

"I'm not that kind of person, Daryl. And I don't really have any friends who listen to you."

 

 

"Ouch," he grunted as he quickly typed his number into her phone and handed it back to her. "Think I prefer your beatings, songbird."

 

 

Beth just shook her night. "Goodnight, Mr. Dixon."

 

 

And with that, Beth moved past him, reaching for her door, slipping her key through the lock. Behind her, Beth listened as Daryl sighed and the heavy falls of his footsteps moved away from her.

 

 

"Need yer help, songbird. Don't ask for help much, but I ain't stupid. Know I can't do this without you."

 

 

Beth gnawed on her bottom lip as she struggled not to turn around and meet his smokey gaze as she unlocked her door and slipped inside, closing the door soundly behind her.

 

 

Beth leaned back against the door, thankful for the solidity of the object as her legs seemed to turn to jelly.

 

 

"What the hell have you gotten yourself into, Beth Greene," Beth asked herself as her eyes fell closed she say Daryl's storm blue eyes.

 

 

 _Trouble_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come Together belongs to the Echosmith, thank you to my good friend dixonink/docellerespire for spending an hour talking to me, helping me figure out what song fit the chapter. They've finally officially met! Things are moving into motion. I still plan for this to be a short fic, leaning more towards 6 chapters with a possibly of a 'bonus track'/epilogue.
> 
> Please hit kudos if you enjoyed it and comment with your thoughts, predictions and any song suggestions you might have! StrangersAngel left some for Trent Reznor which I highly appreciated. 
> 
> I hope to see you all in track 3 :)

**Author's Note:**

> A new fic. Again. Tumblr was an enabler as was my good friend and shipmate Sam aka doncellerespire. It started with an image that popped into my head of Daryl on stage, went from a one-shot to a short fic that should hopefully wrap up in 6 parts. Daryl may get slightly OOC, I will try to keep him as true to cannon as I can but this is a very different universe we are seeing him in. I have this fic mapped out in my mind and I hope you all enjoy the ride.
> 
> I will try to update within the week, I have three other fics going so my time is a little stretched but I'm willing to make it work :)
> 
> Please review, I always enjoy hearing what you guys have to say.


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